


Pride Goeth

by Anndee



Series: Seven Deadly Sins Series [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Pride, Seven Deadly Sins, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-29
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-05-30 12:23:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15096641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anndee/pseuds/Anndee
Summary: Pride is a cunning little devil. But whose fatal flaw is it?Written for the Hogwarts in Harmony Seven Challenge in 2006.





	Pride Goeth

She had been so proud of herself, for finding the last Horcrux and sending Harry off to destroy it with a triumphant smile.  Well Hermione, you know how the saying goes,  “Pride goeth…” she whispered between cracked and bleeding lips.

“What is that you say, my little mudblood?”  A hoarse voice filled with content, with satisfaction, as he saw the bruised and battered body tense with the effort to react to his voice in her ear, his tongue as it snaked out and trailed down the once soft and smooth neck.  “You’re tasty for one with blood so dirty, why won’t you scream for me?  You know I would enjoy it so.”

Hermione knew what was coming next and braced herself for it, almost welcomed it, the pain, the sweet pain that would lead her into oblivion, if just for a while.  She preferred the pain to the images he would force onto her mind.  The blood, the screams, the smell of death all around her, everyone gone but her as she shrieked over the body of the man who held her heart and her soul.

“CRUCIO!”

Her body went rigid with pain of a thousand knives slicing at her skin, the giant hands pushing against her head, her nerves on fire.  The slicing, pressing, igniting, again and again, begging her to screech in protest, for relief.

Voldemort watched with satisfaction as the young girl spasmed in the chair she was chained to.  However, his pride was bruised as yet again, she made nary a sound of pain nor protest. 

Finally, you fucking bastard, you’ll have to leave me alone, Hermione thought, as she fell into the sweet void of blackness. 

 _Pride is a cunning little devil_  
_that prances and cavorts,_  
_And pokes its' nasty little fingers_  
_into the corners of men's heart_ s. 

Brown eyes fluttered open and immediately closed as they focused and looked upon the grotesque face of her torturer. 

“Ah! My little mudblood, so glad you are awake.  I have a special treat for you, my dear,” he said with a sneer, “a way to make you scream the way I want you to.  You screamed for your beloved Potter, did you not?  Just the other night above the Hog’s Head, if I am not mistaken.”

Brown eyes now black with rage opened to glare at him.  “You are disgusting,” she spat out gruffly.

“Tsk, tsk, my little mudblood.” Voldemort chuckled, kneeling down to whisper in her ear, “You really think you’re the only witch to have the young Potter thrusting heartily between her legs?  What would he want with a dirty-blooded, plain thing like you, besides an alternative to his hand…or better yet that delicious Miss Weasley.  Let’s get on with my treat, shall we?”  The serpent-like tongue came out to taste her neck, once again.

_It pricks us here and there,_  
_Like a daily habit worn._  
_A reminder of the other things,_  
_of love lost, and love scorned._

Hermione’s eyes closed again, trying to block out his words.  She knew they were just words and untrue at that.  Harry loved her; she knew it; she felt it to the very fiber of her core when he looked at her, especially the way he looked at her when they made love. 

She used those memories now to fight the invasion being attempted on her mind.  She thought of the emerald orbs above her turning dark with passion and vibrating with love, the way he would whisper, “I love you,” every time he would enter her, and the feeling of completeness when he did, the way their hearts beat together as they moved coupled, connected not just physically.

 _Oh, foolish pride, oh fiendish pride,_  
_on your_ altar _we have lain,_  
_Amid the ashes of our treasures,_  
_offered all in vain._

She fought, but she was too drained.  Even though her mind and body were not entirely shattered just yet, she was too weary to go on fighting forever.  So her tormentor invaded her mind, inundating it with grotesque images—images of his hands replacing Harry’s, of his body moving over hers, ready to plunge viciously inside of her.  With that, she finally succumbed, screaming, “NOOOOOO!”

The images stopped immediately as she sensed him kneeling over her, whispering in her ear, “Ah! Yes, my little mudblood.  I knew I could get you to scream for me.”

Hermione opened her eyes, tears silently falling, “You’re really proud of yourself, aren’t you?” she croaked, looking out over his shoulder.

“Indeed, my little mudblood, I am,” the snakelike voice hissed in her ear.

Hermione smiled weakly, yet maliciously, “You know how the saying goes right?  Pride goeth…”

Voldemort moved to look into her eyes, smirking with satisfaction. “Pride goeth before,” he began before his eyes went wide, then vacant as a flash of green erupted behind him.  Voldemort fell to the floor. 

Hermione looked down at the lifeless body before looking up into the green eyes of her savior and whispered, “The fall.”

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The poem is called “Pride” by Wanda Stahl.
> 
> A/N2: Thank you to my wonderful betas: LadyStarLight/LadyBluestar and Joanie


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